Love Lost
by CrashTurnNBurn
Summary: In progress- An old friend from the past, a distant Fiona, and a distracted Michael only add to the mayhem when a slave trader, weapons dealer and Local PD investigation collide. Thanks in advance for R&R! You all give me the drive to keep on writing!
1. Chapter 1

The loft smelt like ocean air and Fi's scent. She was sidled up into the crook of his arm playing her hand along the curve of his muscles. He had woken up a few minutes before but didn't want to move, enjoying the quiet time that they rarely got together. She hadn't seemed to realize he was awake though and her fingers continued to softly dance across his chest until he finally took a sharp breath in when she found a particularly sensitive spot. At that she wrapped her thin arms around his chest, buried her face in his side and took in a deep breath.

She stayed in that position a long moment until Michael reached up and brushed the hair from her face. She sighed heavily and smiled up at him, "Good morning." Her eyes were a little teary.

"Something the matter?" Michael resituated himself so he could get a better look at her but the melancholy look vanished as quickly as it had come.

"Nothing." She assured him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek before she quickly rolled out of his arms and swung her legs from the bed. She stretched again and Michael watched her languidly collect her dress and pull it over her lithe frame.

"Have somewhere better to be?" Michael mumbled taking in the sight of her, regretting letting her escape his arms but enjoying the view. She brushed her fingers through her hair and pulled it up into a high pony tail, producing a band from who knows where. She strode around the bed and sat on the other side looking down at him.

"Nowhere better." She leaned on her arm over him and gave him a feather light kiss. Michael reached up and cradled her face, deepening the kiss and following her up as she pulled back smiling, "But I do have things to do." Michael let her stand up again and sat up in bed. She went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water. She stared into the glass like it held the answers to life and bit her lip then took a long pull. She set it in the sink and smiled at him, "Besides I'm sure you have things that need your attention." She picked up her heels by the ankle straps, "I'll see you later." And with that she left.

Michael sighed heavily and fell back to his bed. He had it bad.

It was some hours later that Sam appeared at the loft. Michael had been wallowing away in countless exercises, working away the nagging feeling that something had been bothering Fiona. He was drenched in sweat and still felt the twinge of worry. Fi was the only woman who could do this to him and it was downright infuriating. Sam had a six-pack of some imported beer, short one that he was finishing as he walked in. He finished his drink with an eye on Michael.

"Alright there, brother? You look like someone killed your puppy."

"Fine, Sam." He grumbled and wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Oookay." He settled onto a barstool. He popped the top on another beer and sat silently.

Michael stood and walked over to the kitchen, tossing the damp towel over his shoulder he looked in his fridge and found a yogurt, "Was there something you needed, Sam?"

"Can't a guy just come over and have a beer with his old pal?" He smiled innocently.

"It's Saturday morning; shouldn't you be sleeping it off with one of you female friends?" Michael grumbled as he tossed the foil top in the trash and took a spoonful.

"Ouch, Mikey, that really hurts! You know I'm more of a one woman man now adays!" Sam scowled.

Michael waited.

"Freddy's outta town for the week, and I picked up an odd job from a friend of a friend." He smiled, "Thought you might need the extra cash, pays pretty well."

Michael swallowed the yogurt he had in his mouth, "Oh no, Sam." He wiped the sweat from his brow again, "Not another one of your quick jobs that ends with kidnappers or yakuza." Michael walked back to his dresser.

"Come on, Mikey!" He followed him, "I already asked Fi and she said she has something going on. I can't do this one by myself."

Michael sighed looking up at him. Sam had on his best puppy dog eyes that he was sure were overplayed with his paramours, "Does that look ever actually work?"

Sam cracked a smile, "You'd be surprised."

"What is it?"

"Okay, first off its not for the feds or nothing, it's a favor from a friend who is working vice."

"And this favor pays well?" Michael arched a brow speculatively.

"If we get ahold of the information they need there's a good reward." He smiled, "He had an informant with information about some international types bringing in arms and immigrants in shipping containers."

"Weapons and illegal immigration?" Michael asked with a chuckle, "Its Miami, Sam. That's pretty normal."

"These guys are on the same watch lists as you Mikey, and one of them is an old friend of yours." He pulled a folded paper from his pocket.

Michael grabbed the paper and an old associate stared back at him in black and white. The dossier went through the normal information, detailing Declan Mitchell in a way that made him seem like any other person he might come across. It listed a few, but not all and certainly not a detailed list, of his sometimes unsavory forms of employment. Declan was a friend, even if Michael wouldn't readily tell him that. He had been a contact of Fiona's before they had met, and Michael had met Declan separately. He had helped to instill his cover in Ireland, through a mutual agreement, and Michael still owed him a favor or two if he hadn't lost count. His laundry list read very similar to Fiona's (although Declan certainly didn't have her flare for explosives).

Michael scratched his jawline, "Mitchell wouldn't be caught dealing in human cargo."

"Ya, you know that, I know that, but seems someone who has pull in Miami PD doesn't. And looks like our dearest Fiona isn't the only leprechaun in Miami anymore."

Michael grumbled, "And you told Fiona about this already?"

"Her exact words were 'If that idiot got himself into it, he can get himself out'." Sam frowned, "Declan isn't the easiest guy to get along with but I owe him the benefit of the doubt. And if he made a trip all the way here from the cradle of the Earth, I'd bet he has a good reason for it."

Michael returned the paper to Sam, "He'll have to wait until I rinse off."

"That's a given! You stink to high heaven Mickey, aint getting anywhere near my car till you do."

The found the Irishman passed out on a patio table at one of the small cantinas Sam knew on the southernmost end of South Beach. He had his head in his arms and was quietly resting with an untouched salad and water nearby. Declan was dressed lightly in jeans and dark decaled t-shirt. His shaggy brown hair was messed and he looked thin for his normal weight, he didn't move but tensed slightly as the pair sat down next to him.

"Gonna finish that?" Sam grabbed the salad and began picking at it.

Declan lifted his head and gave them a halfhearted smile, "Heard you boys were in town, was doing my best to stay out of your hair." He leaned back and reclined slightly on the unforgiving metal chair, "How's it go?"

"As well as can be expected." Michael took off his glasses and hooked them above the button of his collared shirt.

Declan scratched at the shadow on his chin and clicked his tongue, "Heard about your notice. Shady business that, Michael. Always told you your talents were better spent elsewhere."

Michael gave him a toothy grin, "Thanks, Mitchell. What are you doing in the States? Africa get too hot for you?"

He scoffed, "Would you believe Ah came all this way for a skirt?"

Sam choked on his salad.

"Not really." Michael eyed Sam.

"Not in the way you'd think, but Ah did." He smiled at Sam, "Met a lady who worked for a paper out this way, escorted her home, then picked up a bit of information down this way that Ah couldn't rightly pass up."

"Wouldn't happen to be the human trafficking kind?"

Declan cracked another real smile, taking years off his face, "Actually ya." He cracked his neck, "Normally, Ah try and stay out of other peoples livelihood but seems they have a piece of _cargo_," he put an inflection on that that Michael caught as odd, "that Ah had been looking for for quite some time."

Michael nodded, "Sam here has an acquaintance in the local PD that seems to think you're in bed with the traffickers."

Declan laughed, "More ways than one sadly, but you know Ah don't traffic in flesh Michael. Ah'm only in it for…what Ah was looking for and some ways are quicker than others."

"What or who are you looking for then? Maybe we could help each other out here." Sam offered, "The PD are hoping to round up those slave traders, and we wouldn't want our best little Irishman to get stuck in that net."

Declan grumbled, "Definitely wouldn't want that would we."

"He's being serious though, Declan. We can help you out."

He gave him a crooked frown, "As much as Ah might need it boys," He stood and tossed money on the table, "This is personal. Enjoy the salad."


	2. Chapter 2

Surveillance is never fun but it is the majority of time spent on a job. Before his burn notice Michael's talent was rarely wasted on sitting in a van eating greasy fast food from Styrofoam containers. He would get a dossier and be sent in when he was needed; it was the agents still looking to cut their teeth that spent endless hours watching his marks. Michael still found himself doing some of the grunt work purely because he had a trust issue, but never as much as he did when he returned to Miami. Fiona and Sam often got stuck with it, but even after trying the better part of the afternoon to get ahold of her he had no luck finding Fiona.

Sam was snoring softly in the back seat while Michael watched the warehouse. It seemed that all the bad guys had a general dress code and norm of social interactions. It was like observing a foreign culture. It was from this sort of observations that spies have the ability to insert themselves into such groups. Have you ever met someone who just clicked? Someone who followed your way of thinking, even your speech patterns, mannerisms and likes and dislikes? Sociopaths, psychopaths and spies all use a subtle form of mimicry to ingratiate themselves with their targets.

Sam started in his slumber and sat up with a loud yawn and stretch, "How goes the people watching?"

"Oh you know, posturing and bravado abounds." He shrugged, "No Declan, and no one that I know right away that'd make this personal for him."

Sam slowly clamored through the caddy to the passenger seat. He held out a hand to take the binoculars. He wiped the sleep from his eyes before he scanned the group, "Still nothing from Fi?"

Michael looked at him silently.

"Oh come on, Mickey, who else would you be calling all morning?"

"No, nothing."

"You two get into it?"

"No things have been…good actually." Michael shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Sam chanced a look at him, smiling softly, "She's a big girl, I'm sure she just has a job or something."

"Ya." Michael sighed heavily; he didn't like not being able to regulate his emotions, something he only found himself doing with Fi.

Michael didn't catch the small reflection in his driver side mirror, and his first thought as he was being pulled out of the caddy's window was anger directed at himself. He was tossed unceremoniously against the car door and came a little higher than eye level to a very angry set of green eyes.

"Ah very politely told you to leave me be, Michael." Declan growled.

Michael smiled brightly, "I owe you enough to not let you do something stupid."

Declan hissed angrily and reeled back to hit Michael, but the spy easily deflected it and reflexively clocked him with an elbow. Declan's blow had felt weak, and even though Michael pulled his momentum at the last second it knocked the Irishman off his feet.

Declan let go of Michael and stumbled a bit. By that time Sam was out of the car and surveyed the two, he chose to help steady Declan, who still hadn't straightened up.

"Sorry, sorry." Michael apologized sincerely, "Didn't mean to do that."

Sam grabbed Declan's arm to help right him and the Irishman yelped in pain, "You alright?"

"I didn't hit him that hard." Michael assured him.

Sam helped Declan lean against the car. Mitchell had his arm wrapped guardedly around his stomach, his face was still tweaked in pain but he was breathing through it.

"Dec?" Sam asked again.

"Fine. Ah'm fine." He pressed his hand to his stomach, "Got a new hole in my side, still getting used to it."

Sam peeled his hand away and lifted his shirt; duct tape wreathed a dollar store gauze pad, soaked through with fresh blood. The tape was useless with the amount of blood that had worked its way under the adhesive and Sam easily peeled it away, but the cheap gauze stuck to the healing wound, "This needs stitching, Dec."

Declan pulled away as aggressively as he could putting all of his weight against the car, "Don't need your help, Sam. Or yours Michael." He hissed, and nearly fell down.

"Alright tough guy, let's get you into the car." Michael took his weight and settled him into the back seat, then got into the driver seat. He waited for Sam then started back to the loft, not too far away from the warehouse district.

Declan grumbled angrily in Afrikaans, a language Michael had never been fully fluent in but knew enough to know what Declan was saying wasn't polite conversation.

"Care to enlighten us as to why you're sneaking around alleyways shot up?" Sam looked over the seat.

Declan hissed an expletive.

"That is not nice; my mother was a wonderful woman." Sam glared at him.

"Why don't you just leave well enough alone?"

"Dec." Sam said softly.

"Alright. Dammit." Declan peeled back his shirt, "Do you have a napkin or something?"

Sam produced them from the paper bag his lunch had come in.

Declan mopped up some of the blood that had marred his stomach and pressed on the gauze pad. The cheap brown napkins were soaked through almost instantly, "Like Ah said, Ah don't deal in flesh, but these boys have someone." He settled back against the seat, "Ah have a less than sociable reputation in certain circles, but Ah don't ask questions and Ah don't get caught."

"So you wormed your way into the organization."

"Ah take offense to that term, Michael, Ah do not worm, Ah am an artist and ingratiate myself in damn fine like." He closed his eyes but continued, "They needed some help acquiring some information and getting through some border regulations-"

"Smuggling."

"Ah do not smuggle, Ah acquire goods and services." He glowered somehow with his eyes still shut, "Are you telling the story or am Ah?"

"Go on." Michael smirked at the rearview mirror.

"Ah do my thing, they proceed with their operations and that…person who ah was looking for should be coming in to the coast pretty soon like."

"You left out the part where you get a new piercing and crappy first aid." Sam grumbled, "And who exactly are you looking for?"

"Our line of work comes with certain risks, and this is one of them. They think Ah am a valuable asset so they'll keep me around. At least until she makes it to Miami."

"Who?" Michael asked.

"Someone." He said again softly.

"We can't help you if you don't tell us what we're helping you with." Sam tried again.

Declan didn't respond.

"Dec?" Sam reached over the seat and nudged him, "He's out Mickey, best step on it."

Something they leave out in all those action movies is that unconscious people are heavy. Muscle is heavy. Lugging a fit unconscious man up a flight of narrow stairs is much harder than those movies would have you expect. It's even harder when that man is bleeding from a gut wound. Gut wounds are tricky business, depending on where the bullet hits it can be fatal in seconds or take weeks to die from sepsis, but they're always extremely painful and can often have hidden bleeding from the any number of organs that could be involved. It's best to get the wounded to a hospital where they can open him up and patch up any unseen damage. If that person just so happens to be an illegal immigrant; who is also wanted in connection with a laundry list of international toes he's stepped on its better to get them somewhere quiet till you can find a trustworthy person to take a look at him. More often than not they still either bleed to death or die from sepsis.

Luck has a lot to do with surviving a gut wound. Declan's luck never seemed to run out. He was finally starting to come around when they got into the loft, but only enough to put up enough of a fight to leave Sam with a bloody nose, Michael angry and Declan dropped on the concrete floor.

"You done?" Michael waited for Declan to come to his senses before trying to help him up to his feet.

The scrappy Irishman mumbled to himself and looked around the loft before settling his eyes on Sam, then Michael, "What happened? Where are we?"

"You passed out in the back of my car, and we're at Mickey's place." Sam held a hand towel to his nose. He offered his hand to Declan. Mitchell pulled himself up and nearly keeled over. Michael took his other arm and they settled him on the foot of the bed.

Michael pulled out the small backpack that doubled as a mini traveling medical case and tool bag Fiona had put together for him.

Michael offered to help Declan shoulder out of his coat, but he batted his hands away, "Ah got it." Mitchell hissed at him. He waited patiently as Declan stubbornly made his own way out of his jacket and fumbled with his t-shirt, but managed on his own.

He sat back, bracing himself on his hands and allowed Michael access to the wound. The gauze pad, and the bullet hole beneath, was situated off to the left side a few inches south of the lowest rib and just far enough in to catch enough flesh to cause substantial bleeding. He carefully peeled back the cover; the blood had begun to congeal and was less than helpful with dislodging the gauze from the wound. Declan suffered silently, staring off at nothing in particular. Michael soaked a hand towel in rubbing alcohol and went to work at debriding the surface of the wound. He didn't get much more than a sharp intake of breath from his patient. The ex-spy was more than competent and field medicine and he had it as clean as he could without further damage to the wound, "Bullets out?"

Declan cleared his throat, "Got that far, ya."

"Did you debride it?"

"Aint much use in it. Didn't take anything in other than the slug." He said curtly.

Michael frowned at the wound. He knew a few ways of debriding the inside of a wound, and he had personal experience in how bad those ways hurt. He felt he probably should push to further clean it, but there wasn't any discharge, Declan didn't have a noticeable fever and the amount of bleeding had probably taken care of most of the foreign bodies in the wound. If it came to it, there was a way that involved a salt water towel and a lot of pain that would work on an old wound, but it didn't seem immediately necessary. He pulled his suture kit out next and went to work putting in stitches.

"Conversation helps keep my hands steady." He offered, "Why don't you tell me about this 'she' you're looking for?"

Declan grumbled under his breath, "You're not gonna leave this are ya?"

"Wouldn't count on it brother." Sam smiled as he popped the cap off a longneck.

"Would you have second thoughts if Ah told you it was highly illegal and would greatly offend you boys' moral sensibilities?"

"Nope, tell away."

Declan sighed, "The girl Ah'm looking for is a hit man. Or woman Ah suppose."

Michael looked up, "And to find her, you decided you help with the hiring process?"

He wrinkled his face at Michael's rough stitching, but continued, "As much as Ah would like to, Ah've never shared your sense of moral fortitude, Michael. Or yours Sam. Ah've never had it in me. Ah saw a chance to find her and Ah haven't had many of those in the last decade, so Ah took it. If it demanded me starting a little bit of gang warfare and a fair amount of chaos and disarray in the process, so be it."

"Who is she?"

He smiled, "As much as Ah'd like to say she is some misunderstood angel, she aint that. Her name is Camille Connors."

Sam coughed slightly, "The Connors?" He set down his beer, "How do you know her? She's never been in the states as far as I've heard?"

"She ain't been anywhere until she's not. That's why it's been so hard for me to track her down. Been looking the better part of a decade." Declan sighed and watched Michael stitch.

"You had a thing with her?" Michael asked. He said _thing_ because he was hard pressed to ever imagine Declan with a woman for more than a _thing_. He wasn't the sort to form connections, much like Michael.

"Was more than that. She's the one that got away. We grew up together, sort of. You know Ah haven't got the most familial of upbringings and she was right there with me, was a sort of a family of mine for most of my early years, her and her brother." Michael bandaged the wound and let Declan sit up a little better, "Went further than that as we got a little older. She was all piss and vinegar about the treatment of our like, the social inequities and such. She wanted to go to university and go into politics, always had this dream of making the world a better place and such." He looked decades older as he spoke, "Until her baby brother was killed in the streets. David couldn't have been sixteen and he got beat down like a dog for looking malicious in the wrong time and place. Something went sour in Cammy then. Took me down a dark path too, but she snapped right good. Ah got to drinking and she got to rebelling, we grew apart and she found a more radical way to deal with those _inequities_." He wiped his face, "By the time Ah crawled out of a gutter long enough to notice, she was long since disappeared. Heard tell of her getting in with the IRA, so Ah went looking there. Met your fair Fiona then, and caught up with her long enough for Cammy to put a bullet in my leg and tell me to stop chasing."

"Took the hint then?" Sam frowned.

Declan laughed, "For a time. You know me, bit thickheaded. Ah tried a few more times, then got into a spot of trouble, left the country for greener pastures." He shrugged, "Had thought she'd gotten herself killed by now, but always kept an ear open."

"And how does a gang war and human trafficking help you find your long lost?" Michael sat on a barstool, too tired to stand.

"Not actually what does it. The gang war sets up a need for police, police intrude on their turf, make them jumpy. Jumpy makes them want certain people dead."

"And why not hire someone local?"

"They would if it was someone simple," He sighed, "Ah might have made it in their best interest to put a certain public figure in their crosshairs, someone who would require a professional."

"What did you do, Declan?" Michael glowered.

"The chief of police. Ah convinced them to put out a hit on the Chief of Miami Metro."


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks so much for all the reviews! I love writing and hope to continue with it someday professionally! It makes me so happy to know that you all enjoy it! Sorry for the time between chapters, I have that thing called work and life that gets in the way of writing sadly. This is a shorter chapter but felt like this was a good place for a break. Please keep on R&R! Can't wait to hear from you all!

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The most important thing in any operation is how well the members can work together. No matter how experienced a spy is, they are only as good as their support system. That is why a burn notice can be such a death sentence. When working jobs on an interagency level one never really learns the type of dependency on protocol often seen in federal agents. It does help immensely if the operatives you are relying on have worked together already. It also is a huge aid if said operative is a master manipulator and has a reputation enough to give their words sway in the group.

Declan had always been able to spin any situation in his favor. If there was information leaked on him, or a dossier to be had, it was because he had wanted it that way; there was always another plan in the works with him. He was good at what he did. If there was any way into or out of trouble Declan had it mapped out backwards and forwards. That being said it's not always the best course to go along with a stubborn Irishman with a grudge.

"This would be much easier if we just went in there." Declan grumbled.

"Says the guy who got himself shot in the gut." Sam scoffed as he stared through the binoculars, "What are they doing down there?"

Declan took the sights and looked through the picture window at the slowly mobilizing crew, "There were supposed to be getting in a shipment tonight. The plan was to allow it to be taken, cause a ruckus with the PD when they swoop in to take it off their hands, just enough to make it news worthy. That was before Ah so fortuitously disappeared this morning, though, so no telling what they're deciding now."

"Given our choices, I think its best you stay out of the direct line of fire."

Declan scoffed, "Say that now. We should get settled into more advantageous positions; they won't be taken much longer."

"Probably for the best." Michael agreed.

"Still no sign of your mystery woman, Dec."

"She wouldn't be wandering around with the likes of them. If she is anything like the creature of habit Ah knew, she won't be out till the last moment."

Michael nodded, "Well, Sam you should set up on a long range rifle up there, keep an eye on as much as you can."

"Sounds like a plan, keep me in the loop boys." Sam grabbed his duffle and hustled off.

"If she's here we'll get ahold of her."

Declan smirked, "Should hope so."

Spies and the like stay alive by working out all the possible hurdles a job make present. The best in the field can see where their target is going to be before they decide to make it there. Working with a trained professional is more akin to playing chess with a master. Dealing with someone who has spent their life as a criminal, especially one with the financial backing drug cartels offer and the lack of consequences that comes along with that money, is like playing go fish with a mental patient. There's no telling what their next move may be because they often don't plan that far ahead.

Declan mouthed a silent prayer and kissed a small medal hanging around his neck. It was pitch black, save the light from an oddly bright moon, and they had found themselves sidled up next to a row of storage containers. He caught Michael watching him and smirked, "Call it habit."

Michael smiled.

Declan peered around and watched the group of lackeys as they milled around the warehouse entrance. They were none the wiser of what was about to happen and it showed as they joked in their native tongue. The warehouse wasn't anything special for the area. It was run down and in disrepair, but so was every other building on this end of the dock. Each door held a room a bit larger than the average space in a storage facility lockup. The first of the group fiddled with the lock and rolled up the door.

Inside the shadows of the badly lit warehouse there were people milling about. They shielded their eyes from the harsh yellow of the fluorescent lights.

"There are women and children in there." Michael muttered to himself mostly.

"Ah know."

"You never said anything about this being one of the live shipments."

"Ah'm not exactly privy to that type of specifics, Michael." He grumbled then turned back to searching the shadows, "We won't have much time till Cammy makes a splash."

Michael watched as they moved confused people around roughly.

Declan scanned the docks looking for some sign of who he was hoping to see, "Explosives aren't her style. She'd use a rifle." The Irishman stood and checked his gun, "We have to move, she won't settle in one spot for long."

"What about the people down there?" Michael stood unsure. The men below begun pulling people out into the flood light, settling them to their knees, taking inventory. Most were very young; children and teenagers, young mothers, even the few who could be called men didn't seem to be anything dangerous. He looked back for Declan and only saw a flash of color as he disappeared into the shadows, "Dammit."

A flood of blue and red signaled the arrival of Miami's finest. Everything was moving much too quickly. Michael could feel his heart beating in his throat. He watched as the men and the immigrants jumped at the whoop of the siren. None seemed to know what to do. Michael could see the comforting glint of Sam's rifle sight across the way, settled in a crane, but didn't catch whatever had sent Declan running.

He signaled to Sam that there was another shooter and took off at a fair sprint in the direction Declan had fled. The fluorescents from below had damaged his night vision and it took a while for him to get his bearings. Declan hadn't hidden his path and it was easily followed when he found it.

He ducked his head at a soft pop of a muffled shot, then a sudden barrage of fire. He heard the distinctive sound of Sam's gun. Another pop just a ways ahead of him decided his direction. Michael doubted he could help any of the immigrants if the police had opened fire, but if he got ahold of the shooter he might be able to stop the sudden firefight. He heard a tousle ahead of him. He ignored the sharp burn in his lungs and pushed himself harder. It only took another few strides and a clean leap over a knee high crate to catch up to his quarry. Or at least that was who he assumed he ran into.

A sharp elbow caught him in his diaphragm, already shaking and winded from his run he wasn't ready from the air being knocked from him. He lashed out and grabbed a handful of fabric. This time his assailant landed a solid blow in his throat that left him coughing. Even in the dark he saw dark spots dance over his vision. He caught hair next and pulled until he was rewarded with Fiona's thin frame. She fell against his chest and he immediately recognized her, even without quite seeing her, "Fiona what the hell?" He rasped.

Her eyes were fierce and she shook him off of her, "Let go!"

Michael released his hold on her like he had been scalded but held a hand out to her as he steadied his breathing, "Fiona, what are you doing here?"

"Michael, he'll kill her!" She hissed.

"Who? Fi?"

Her eyes glistened, "Declan, he's going to kill Cammy." She glared at him. Her whole body jumped at a sharp cry ahead of them. She spun on her heels and took off at a sprint.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you all for the kind words! Hope you enjoy! Sorry for the wait, we're into the busy season at work, but I'll do my best to keep up!

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The sound of a human body crashing into the unforgiving steel and glass of a resting car is not something you're likely to forget. Michael chased Fi as fast as he could, still trying to catch his breath; she lithely leapt over the railing of a stair case ahead of him. She was uncharacteristically in a pair of tightly laced black combat boots and easily out ran him. They rounded the corner in time to see a petite auburn haired woman cornered by Declan on the fire escape above them. Declan had his sidearm leveled at her head, and the woman didn't move from her perch except to eye him.

Fiona drew on him, not an easy shot, but she couldn't necessarily close the distance to increase her chances to hit him, "Don't Mitchell." Her voice was sharp, barely betraying her uneasiness.

Michael settled a few feet from Fiona, "Wait."

Declan shifted, "You don't think Ah want to do this, Fi." His voice shook and sounded more like a statement than a question, "She's left me no choice, you have no idea what she's done." Pain dripped heavily from his voice, the kind that was carried with defeat.

"I don't care what you want, put the gun down."

The woman scoffed, "You should listen to your friends, Declan."

"Don't." He growled taking a step forward, shifting his weight and causing his stance falter a moment and the woman saw his misstep.

In one smooth motion, Cammy changed her grip on the rifle, ducked and spun on her heels enough to club Declan with a sniper rifle's butt, wielding the weapon with accuracy any professional baseball player would envy, and send him reeling off the second floor's fire escape. The heavy weapon echoed off of his skull and he lost all his fight.

Declan flipped bonelessly over the railing and crashed heavily into the abandoned Honda Civic beneath the railing. He hit hard enough to crumple the metal and shatter the safety glass beneath him. His body bounced off and landed on the concrete.

The small woman didn't waste time watching his decent. She took her chance and darted into the door next to her perch. Fiona only faltered a moment to watch Declan fall. She again took off at a sprint up the fire escape, ignoring Michael calling her name. Michael hesitated as she took off, but decided Declan was his immediate concern. He realized the annoying noise he was hearing was Sam on the other end of his earbud, which had fallen out of his ear when he began running and now hung from his collar.

He absently returned the radio to his ear and knelt next to Declan, surveying the damage.

"-somebody answer me here!"

"I'm here, Sam. Bring the car around to the south block of the marina. Declan is in bad shape."

"What happened?" From the sound of his voice he had already been running.

"He found his girl, and she was less than cooperative. Fi's here somewhere Sam, I need to see if I can find her before she gets too far. Hurry."

"I'll be right there."

Declan was bleeding from the quickly swelling welt in his temple, nothing was obviously broken but his shoulder lay at an odd angle. Michael tapped his face and was rewarded with a half-hearted grumble, "You stubborn son of a…" Michael mumbled as he looked up at the fire escape again; he was rather lucky for how high the fall had been. The car had taken the brunt of the damage.

The door on the landing slammed above them, behind Fiona, "She's gone." She quickly slid down the stair railing and made her way over, "Is he alive?"

"For now." Michael checked Declan's side; the bandage was soaked through again, at the very least a few pulled stitches, more than likely he had damaged his side further. He looked up to Fiona, "Where have you been?"

She fidgeted a moment. He finally really looked at her and realized how worn she looked. Her hair was pulled back in a tight bun, her hairstyle of choice if she was somewhere she wouldn't be able to take care of it, and she looked drawn and pale like she hadn't slept in days, "I've been busy, Michael." She slid her gun into her waistband. The cinderblock wall between them and the men echoed the chaos of police rounding up their quarry.

The borrowed taupe Buick rolled past the alley, stopped then backed up, easily guiding to their position. Sam set it into park and got out, "What happened to him?" He asked eyeing the smashed up car behind them.

Michael motioned to the fire escape, "Took a tumble."

Sam settled down at Declan's head, checking around his neck, "That's more than a tumble. Probably shouldn't move him."

"Not much of a choice." Fiona said.

"We'll be as gentle as we can, grab a side Sam."

* * *

A fall from any height can be deadly at the correct angle, but if someone is properly trained most damaged can be avoided if the force of the fall can be distributed to a point. Even nearly unconscious muscle memory can count for something, and Declan was darn lucky he had that. He was bruised, and his trick shoulder was dislocated, but nothing permanently damaged, so long as he woke up more aware than he seemed when they had gotten him into the Buick.

Fiona sat in the front of the Buick next to Sam messing with a burner phone that Michael didn't recognize. Sam drove as quickly as he could without being too obvious, headed back toward the other side of town, and the loft.

"Fi?"

"What Michael?"

"What exactly are you all into?" Declan was leaned haphazardly across the seats and settled on Michael for support. He was breathing regularly, in spite of the wicked bruise on the side of his face.

"Michael…"She had the tone of voice warning him to drop it.

"Fi, this isn't something I'm going to let alone. You were ready to shoot Declan. And as much as you might deny it you've known him longer than me."

She looked over the seat and gave him a scowl, "I've known Cammy longer than Declan."

"Fiona, I'm not taking sides, I just want to know what the hell is going on."

"Declan was trying to get Cammy into town to kill her. He has been looking for her for the better part of a couple decades."

"I don't buy it, Fi." Sam scoffed but didn't turn around, "Declan isn't the type to take a shot at anyone without having a damn good reason to."

She turned her withering glare back to Sam then settled back into her seat, again messing with her phone, "Declan and Cammy have a past, not something I know the entirety of, but I know that Cammy doesn't deserve a bullet in the back of her head because he decided he's finished with their relationship."

"Fi, I know you think of Declan as more than just a friend. And if you've known Cammy longer than that I can only guess at what she means to you." Michael said softly, "But the way I saw it he didn't take a clean shot when he could of, and I doubt he could have pulled that trigger without us finding him. Cammy seemed less inclined with his safety. You need to take a step back and tell me what exactly is going on so I can help you here."

She sighed softly.

"I'm going to assume that the reason you've been a little distant the last few days was that you knew one or the other would be in town."

The long pause was enough to confirm his suspicions. Fiona returned an apologetic look over her shoulder, "Not the way you're thinking though, Michael." She continued when he didn't acknowledge her, "I had heard that Cammy might be in town. I was a little more than conflicted with how to handle that, Michael. It wasn't until a day ago that I caught wind of Declan being in the states, let along actively campaigning for Cammy to take a target right here."

"You knew a professional hit man would be in Miami but didn't think it was important enough to tell me?" Michael asked gently.

Fiona bit her lip, "Not until I knew who she was here for." She turned sharper and her voice took on a more apologetic tone at Michael's disapproving gaze, "There are killers in Miami all the time, Michael. Not the least of which you and I. Don't patronize me, Michael, I was trying to get information on her, and it was personal."

Michael rubbed his temple and nodded, "So what did you find out?"

"She was hired to take out a police chief, and secondary targets to make a point. But I wouldn't have let it happen, I just needed to talk to her."

"What secondary targets Fi?"

Her gaze fled his, "The wife and son."

* * *

The stunned silence was broken by a sharp gasp from Declan. Mitchell had a reputation for becoming violent when injured or coming out of unconsciousness, something Michael had seen more often than he liked and often enough to know to be scarce when he was coming back to his senses. Michael didn't have much room to escape so he did the next best thing he was able to from his position and tried his best to talk the discombobulated Irish man down from possible going on the defense.

"Easy, you're with friends." Michael pulled himself away and held up his hands.

Declan managed to claw himself up into the smallest target that would be possible for his size and huddle in the seat farthest from Michael. His eyes were still cloudy and fogged heavily with the concussion he was likely suffering from.

"Declan, relax." Fiona let a little of her accent color her voice, enough to snap Declan's attention to her. Mitchell visibly complied and settled back.

His face was swelling and quickly turning different shades of blue and purple along the side he had caught the rifle butt with. His expression faltered slightly and betrayed his stillness. He was hurting, and still not quite caught up with how he had found himself in the back of the Buick, "Where's Cammy…" He barely whispered, "Did Ah?"

"No, she clocked you pretty good though." Sam looked over his shoulder, "You should settle down there, we have a while till we get back to Mikey's and you don't look so good. No yakking on the leather. It's borrowed."

Declan closed his eyes hard, his face contorting as he stressed the fresh damage, "Ah need to find her."

"She's long gone, buddy."

"Pull over!" He snapped harshly, exhaustion and pain coloring his accent.

"That's not the smart play here." Michael settled back into his seat, "She won't be back at the warehouse, and if her track record holds, she won't be easily found until she is ready to work."

"Ah'm done with your help. Pull over and let me out." He growled again.

"Pull over, Sam." Michael said.

"Mikey-"

"Sam."

Sam looked over his shoulder but complied and pulled into a hardly lit neighborhood. It wasn't the best part of town and the building and brick walls sported colorful graffiti acknowledging whose territory they had imposed upon. Before the Buick fully lurched to a stop, Declan opened the door and stepped out. He managed to make a convincing exit bracing against the car to feign strength, but it quickly faltered as he made his way down the dark leaf riddled sidewalk.

Michael followed a ways back until Declan lost his equilibrium and ended up on one knee cradling his side. Michael continued to his side and was greeted by a poorly weighted punch that he easily defected and steadied Mitchell.

"I don't remember you ever losing a fight with me before. That makes two in less than a day."

Declan laughed, "Doesn't rightly count if Ah'm stuck seeing double."

"You're in rough shape, Dec, let us help."

"Ah'm not asking for your help, and don't need it."

"Just the same, let us help you find her. I owe you that at least, if you want to get yourself killed after that, that's your decision." He motioned to Declan's current state, "Or you can keep looking how you are and see how far you get."

Declan pushed off of him and stood with the help of a rickety white picket fence, "Ah don't think your lady friend will agree with you."

Michael scoffed, "If I could count the times that Fiona and I have nearly killed each other you'd never believe me."

Declan smiled softly at this, "This won't end in a friendly farewell, Michael."

"Never does, does it?" Michael nodded back to the Buick, "Come on, I know someone who can help patch you up, might have something more comfortable than my loft too."

Declan gave him a skewed look and followed.


End file.
